Specter
by ShadowSpires
Summary: Tim wakes up alone in a hospital room. His last memory is of taking pictures of Batman and Robin. He doesn't have his camera. He doesn't know how he got there, but he does know one thing; He has to get his camera back, before the police use his pictures to discover the identity of Batman and Robin. (4th in the Worse Than Halloween series. Follows; Visitation.)


Steady beeping infiltrated Tim's consciousness. His eyes fluttered open to bright whiteness. He squeezed them shut again immediately as they watered at the pain of those bright lights. He reached up to rub at his eyes an was surprised by a sharp tug on his hand. Opening watering eyes revealed a needle and tube running into is hand, the line running up to a dripping I.V.

What?

A glance around showed that he was alone in a hospital room.

How?

Tim stared around wide-eyed, scared and confused. How did he get here? Last thing he remembered, he had been climbing to the top of the municipal building, to try to get a glimpse of Batman and Robin's fight with the Penguin and his henchmen.

Had he fallen?

Since he wasn't dead, someone must have called 911. Had they notified Mrs. Mac? He hoped not. She would have tried to reach his parents, and they were on a very important trip. Not to be disturbed. They hadn't been able to stay for his birthday, and they would be very disappointed if they had to come back just for this.

He was a little surprised that she wasn't here, though. She had stayed with him once when he had needed to go to the hospital with pneumonia. Perhaps she had stepped out? Or maybe she was running errands. She did have her own life, after all, and had better things to do than sit at Tim's bedside.

Had he really fallen? Tim poked tentatively at himself, scrutinising his wrists, which were sporting odd bruises and aching a bit. He didn't feel like he was injured other than that, and he'd been pretty high up. If he'd fallen he would probably be dead.

He was actually a little miffed. He'd had no reason to fall. He'd made that climb several times, in worse weather, to see Batman and Robin in action.

Maybe they had caught him?

_Blue eyes set below dark hair, a face leaned over him, concern etched into the lines around unmasked eyes. "Woah, kid, calm down-"_

The blood seemed to freeze suddenly in Tim's veins. There had been someone else there. Memory started to return in flashes. He had woken up, confused. There were cops there, bodies, something had happened, something important he needed to remember -

A shadow moved in the glass in the door. Tim stilled, motionless, not even breathing for a second. Someone was guarding his door. The way they guarded criminals in the shows Mrs. Mac watched.

Police.

There were police outside his door.

The police. Had they found his camera? Developed his pictures?

There were no photos on his current roll that would reveal Batman's identity, but what if they thought to look for others?

Were they even now at his house, finding the evidence that would tie Batman to Bruce Wayne?

Tim's throat tightened, and he felt tears encroaching at the thought that it might be his carelessness that revealed the secret and got Batman and Robin arrested, or killed.

Unlike most of the other heros, Batman and Robin were still considered wanted by the Gotham police.

_"What is NCIS doing in Gotham?" That didn't make sense. There was no Naval base in Gotham, and it was not a popular vacation destination for serviceman. They seemed to prefer staying out of active war zones on their vacations. _  
_Blank confusion on the faces around him. The man who had woken him, who didn't actually look anything like Bruce now that Tim's head wasn't spinning, traded looks with the others who had joined him. The younger man mouthed "Gotham?" from where he stood at the back of the group, holding a camera even nicer than Tim's. _  
_"I'm...not in Gotham, am I?" Tim's own voice, suddenly weak with his internal confusion and fear. If he was not in Gotham, then the normal rules did not apply. If he wasn't in Gotham, no one was coming to save him._

He wasn't in Gotham. That was what he had needed to remember.

If he wasn't in Gotham, he might still have time to fix this.

Tim carefully maneuvered his way out of the lines entangling him, silent, silent, so silent so as not to alert the guard outside his door. He shut off the IV before pulling out the needle, hissing a little at the tug. He studied the heart-rate monitor closely, and managed to turn it off carefully with a mixture of careful investigation and half-remembered visits to a friend's house when he was very little. Jane's grandmother had an in-house nurse who had been very happy to talk to the cute, quiet little boy who asked such intelligent questions.

Detached from the bed, Tim picked up the chart at it's foot. He didn't understand most of what it said, except that he was at Bethesda Naval Hospital, wherever that was, and his name was listed as Timothy Doe.  
Doe. He had told them his first name in his confusion, but they didn't know his last name. They didn't know who he was.

He still had time.

He wasn't sure why the Navy was involved in the search for Batman and Robin, but he couldn't let them find out. Couldn't let anyone find out.

He might be able to get his camera back before they realised what was on it, or figured out who he was. He hadn't had any identification on him, so if he could just disappear, he might be able to get back to Gotham in time to destroy all his other pictures before the cops tracked him back to them.

Despair dug icy fingers into his chest. No more pictures. No more glossy photographs of Batman and Robin fighting side by side, of Robin and Nightwing laughing and darting through the sky. Nothing to cling to but the memory, worn and soft with use, of warm arms around him, and a bright smile. A cheerful voice promising to do a trick, just for *him*.

Back to darkness and cold lonely nights, alone in that big house.

No more adventures into the vibrant-dark of Gotham's night. He wouldn't be able to risk it. Risk them.

It felt like tearing out a part of his soul, to imagine burning his photographs. His negatives. But it was worth it. Would be worth it, to protect them.

Tim looked out the small window at the slowly brightening darkening sky, at the unfamiliar skyline. It was threatening in a way Gotham's familiar shapes could never be. Too bright, too clean. He wanted to stay here, and wait for parents that never came, not go out into that unfamiliar night. The wind was cold and unwelcoming, and it was getting dark already, though the clock only read 4:07. It felt like winter, though that couldn't be possible. It was late spring. Could he be that far from home that the seasons were different?

Whatever it was, he would get through it. It stood between him and home.

Between him and fixing his mistake. Protecting those that protected Gotham.

Tim put the chart back where it belonged, erasing the evidence of his movement as best he could. He tugged the scrubs pants up a bit as the cuffs trailed on the ground, and was grateful for the socks which helped keep his feet warm, and muffle the sound of his footsteps.

Tim took a deep breath, looked back at the silhouette framed against the glass in the door, firmed his resolve, and slipped out the window. The growth of Ivy up the side of the building was old and strong, and supported his weight without any trouble. When his bare feet hit the cold ground it sent a sharp, aching chill through him, but he slipped, undeterred, into the shadows, and out into the growing night like a ghost. Like the shadow he always was; at home, or on the rooftops of Gotham.


End file.
